


the lies we tell ourselves

by kinpika



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Future Fic, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mixed feelings, Moral Dilemmas, Relationship Problems, Undercover, post-retirement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:43:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8357773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: “Hello? Who is this?” 
  
  With a sharp intake of air, Tim heard a voice he had been avoiding for the past year, and closed his eyes as he spoke. “Dick? I need you.”

Tim retired over a year ago, but like many things, you can take the hero out of the game, but you can't take the game out of the hero. And Tim is sure he's still got game. Game enough to throw himself headfirst into whatever gives him an excuse to get out of Gotham.
Except, even this sort of situation muddies his moral compass as it drags him back home. And he calls the last person he wants to talk to, because he may just be getting out of his depth. Something that leads to cracking open several years worth of feelings and concerns Tim was certain he had smothered and buried. But like everything that Tim knows about this kind of world, nothing stays dead and buried for long.





	

Tim knows very well this was the kind of wrong he grew up with, told not to get involved in. A kind he had rubbed shoulders with at charity galas more than once. The kind that had him sent away to collect ‘evidence’ for a few good minutes, until it returned, not a hair out of place. Disconcerting, and still not something he was wholly comfortable with, even as he scales the side of the building. 

This part was the comfort part. It was the later, and the later still, that had him have to question whether this was the _right_ way. Even if he had calculated and tracked and evaluated each possible point, and their futures, something had him land in this kind of situation.

Months. It had taken _months_ to get to this exact point. This exact point where he stood atop the Gotham Museum, fingers scrabbling along the computer at his wrist, disabling the cameras long enough to pull the crew up behind him. This exact point was something he had never considered as possible or probable, not with the weight of _justice_ bearing down on him, sometimes wearing a moustache, other times coloured a blazing red. So many different directions he could have wandered in, and Tim had chosen infiltration as his best and only option. 

“Alright, let’s go over this again.”

And Tim had never rightly believed infiltration to be his strong point.

They huddle around Jason, an irony that does not escape Tim at all. Even if this Jason was not like the one who still toted guns and a helmet that was growing steadily more human in expression as the years wore on, it was that snappishness, and absolute confidence, that had Tim hesitate at the back. Watch on, as Jason used the map that Tim had specifically designed, three-dimensional and moveable with the specially built gloves, pointing this way and that. 

Tim had yet to really consider if this would be considered an outright bastardisation of his gadgets, and hoped the failsafe would work on time. If they could even get to that point. Scratching under the vest, snug and bulletproof (which did little to calm himself that they might set something off), Tim noticed he was being watched.

Throwing a smile at Ana, one of his teammates, Tim simply received a scowl in response. Typical. They still didn’t trust him, but Jason trusted what Tim built — and that was his first mistake. 

“Like stealing candy from a baby!”

Even though nearly every bone in his body told him that someone had waited a _long_ time to say that, Tim doesn’t resist the slight pull of his lips. Maybe it was effective enough in handwaving some of the distrust still following him from the likes of Mark or Chelsea, but it garnered a full blown grin from Natalie, and Tim thought that was alright. Kicking his feet slightly, he lowered to a crouch beside their leader, watching as he dragged a finger over the map once more. Detailing every route in and out, just as Tim had planned.

If he blinked, he was fairly sure the map was burned into the backs of his eyelids, and would probably be that way for another week or so. Tim wondered if he could honestly pull this off by himself, on that information alone. Whilst he lacked Selina’s infinite grace in the art, Tim made up for it in enthusiasm, surely. 

That thought alone gives Tim pause that, once again, he had never seen himself to be playing at _burglar_ in his lifetime. It just happened to be that time of year when people started calling in their favours. Even to those who had decided to retire.

“Hey, Tim, you ready?”

With a half shrug turned into a nod towards his own entry point, Tim receives a muttered “figured”, and is left alone. He had already managed to open his window with a simple screwdriver, and what he supposed passed as the current style in burglary material. Despite offending all of his sensibilities, and somewhat making him miss patrols with all the gadgets Bruce thought up, it did give him something to do. Maybe an extra thirty seconds worth, but even that these days was still something (he was getting disgracefully rusty, after all).

“Ready to go when you all are,” he answers, firmly. Believably. As Tim makes his way over to his window, flipping the lock all the way off and opening it just enough to squeeze in, he notes the shadow.

His partner for this operation. Whilst Tim had argued he was better at this sort of thing alone, the others had insisted that Natalie should stick with him. Being someone other than the sidekick was still something he wasn’t sure he could get used to, and he knew he was never cut out to be a mentor. There was still so much he was working through, years on, to be able to take someone under his own wing. It made him question how the others did it, but Tim bit his tongue at the worry on Natalie’s face, instead placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Comforting, Tim could do comforting. 

“Will you be alright? You can still sit this one out, you know.” Voice low, and Tim covers the mic with his hand as he speaks. 

“We both know I can’t.” Whilst her voice doesn’t _tremble_ , there isn’t that strength there that Tim had been introduced to, mid heated argument in a lecture back at the university, when someone suggested something untoward. 

Even if Jason had lead the last few dozen robberies the last few months, this had once been Natalie’s operation. Simple store thefts and break-ins. Completely unnoticeable, and very rarely investigated. The kind of things that only lead to a place upping their security, and maybe a few weeks of big guys with shaved heads walking around the place. But then it was moving on to another hit, and lying low when people started whispering.

Definitely not the kind of stuff that even had Selina pipe up, as it seemed the group had been smart enough to give the East End a wide enough berth. But then Natalie met Jason. And Tim hauled his ass to New York, following them around the country from then on.

And now, he was here. Back in Gotham, after a year away. A year of unanswered calls and half answers, and insistence on contact only through business emails. Tim grinned, in what he hoped was somewhat inspiring, and opened the hatch wider.

“Ladies first,” he offers, and extends his hand. Natalie rolls her eyes, but there’s a bit more _oomph_ in her, as she lowers herself down towards the beams below, rope holding steady behind her. Tim follows quickly, once he was sure the window was firmly held open, and they’re ready. Not quite ready for anything, but closer than they had been. 

Despite the voices whispering in his ear that he was being far too casual, he leads the way. Natalie activates the map on the small computer at her wrist, but Tim knows this place inside and out. Map or no, he had spent many hours inside the sprawling, ever expanding museum. Hide and seek, or just somewhere to run to, when it got to be too much. Museums were always so much cooler at night, when it was just him and darkened displays, hiding from the night-watchmen and their torches. Like he had been part of some elaborate video game, and he had to roll behind benches to sneak past. 

Those days were fading, with each step towards the display spectacular. They only had a few hours as a window, as the museum was busily preparing for a midnight showing. People below, mostly staff and volunteers, who had no reason to look up. Tim chose this route for the sole purpose of it being the most obvious. Footsteps soundless, as they kept moving, Tim had no need to keep his arms spread out. One foot in front of the other, like he was walking a tightrope. Circus. A great crowd, watching below. Falling. Bad memories.

“Tim, how far away are we?” 

Even if she was holding the map, Tim knew she was just asking for reassurance. Maybe it was the pressure of time that was getting to her, but Natalie was not even attempting a brave face. Perhaps it’s the blatant fear in her voice that was able to give Tim time to focus on something else (other than him spiralling towards the ground below), but he turns to grasp her hand. Reassuring. Something he was getting better at, now that he was far from _those_ people and _that_ place. 

“We’re getting closer. We may need to move a bit quicker, though. Catch Chelsea before she runs in.”

In the background, Tim can hear the static of the mic, conversations flooding through. Strange, there should have been no interruption. They were all supposed to be equipped with the same mic, on the same frequency. A cold feeling, something Tim had ultimately been avoiding, returned with insistence, and he hoped it didn’t show on his face. Something was very wrong, and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

Not the first time he wished he had simply stuck to wearing that ridiculous suit Selina had thought up, and following this little group closely. Not going directly in. Not risking several identities, and then some. Tim knew they suspected him, heavily so (he’d read the text messages), and it would only be a matter of time until he had to pull another fake shooting. Perhaps he could pull in a favour of his own, and doll someone up to have them at least appear. So many things he had to do, as they made their way to the crossroads.

So many things he should have taken notice of, like the kick aimed towards his head. Vigilance, Tim, always be vigilant. The words are accompanied by a familiar voice, one he can’t quite pin down, as it was murky and distrusted and Tim snaps back against a full helm, flat palm, attempting to push them back. There was nothing on the records to suggest that they would be attacked by a rival group midway, and he does spare thoughts that they had been compromised, Chelsea may have been hurt, Jason may have gotten too far to be stopped.

And with those thoughts came absolute carelessness. Like everything happened in absolute slow motion, Tim watched as Natalie was shoved. This was the bad thing about helmets, the kind of thing that had Tim appreciate the domino masks, and the individual suits that those he knew donned: he knew who the culprit was. Regardless of how Tim felt with the single burst of anger in his chest (his first emotion in a long time that set him alight, other than the apathy that had accompanied him for far too long), he still runs forward. Tries to swipe as Natalie flails, going for her rope. Untrained, nervous, inexperienced. Too many factors that led to her slipping, and Tim focusing on her, over the whodunnit. 

If he had his suit. If he still had his toys. If he was still someone other than Tim Wayne, he may have been able to do something.

“Leave her!” That was Mark’s voice in his ear, as they all turned at once to watch Natalie topple from the beams. When did they all appear? Where did the attacker go? And they were worried about his being in two places at once, but here was a classic example of it. 

No fucking way, he hisses back, but didn’t expect them to all just leave. Abandon her. Tim wants to yell, kick and scream, but he can see the guards. His failsafe was going to go off sooner than he expected. At least it would stop them from getting the diamond. Especially after all this.

Natalie is the one who shouts — a piercing “ _no_!” — something that gives away their position more than her dangling in the middle of the room. Tim can see her scrabbling upwards, trying to pull at the rope around her leg, and grits his teeth. It had gone taut, and even from his height, Tim could see it dig into her leg. 

“Shh!” Louder than he should be, Tim leans over the beam, tugging at his own rope. Checking to make sure he wasn’t sabotaged either. “Natalie, hold on.”

“Tim! Please!”

“Just listen to me, okay?” 

“O-okay…” Despite the whimper in her voice, and Tim noting how the struggling had only made things worse, there was little else he could really see possible.

Time was of the essence, as he was sure guards would start looking up any moment now. One more pull on his rope for good luck, and he forms a loop, kicking his foot into it. If he had time, there was another way he could see himself doing this. But he didn’t. Time just wasn’t something Tim had anymore, even if he had a year away, a year to remove himself and work himself out and work everything out. 

“Tim, what are you—”

He doesn’t answer her, as he goes into a free fall. Exhilarating and dearly missed, the kind of feeling he had given up the last time he was in Gotham, hanging up the cape for good. Saying goodbye to the problems associated with capes and masks and identities. But Tim couldn’t deny the smile on his lips as he twisted himself to swing, foot holding firm in the loop, until he was upright, holding steady. In one hand, he held the excess rope, ready to release it to let him slide to the ground. But it’s the grin on his lips that has Tim not worried about words from below, as he’s breathing hard, living that life again, performing something out of the ordinary.

A move that could have broken a bone of a lesser man. Tim was glad he wasn’t one of those men.

“How did you—”

“Grab on to me.” 

Natalie doesn’t move, and Tim knows she’s exerting far too much strength to hold herself upright, the way she was. Throwing his weight back, then forth once more, he manages to catch her with his arm, repeating himself once more. “Natalie, grab on to me _now_.”

Giving far too much of himself away at that moment, Natalie seems to really look at him, beyond what she saw in class. Maybe she was piecing together the phantom thief and him, who never appeared at the same time. Maybe she had watched clips of Robin on the television growing up. And then Red Robin, especially that one particular scene they had liked to repeat, of him hurtling from that damn tower to his death. That one seemed to have been the public’s favourite.

Or maybe Natalie just threw an arm around him, followed by the other, squeezing his shoulders. Trembling and sniffling at his ear. “Focus for me, Natalie, come on.”

“I-I am.”

“Good, I’ve got you.” He hoped he sounded far more reassuring than he felt, because the exasperation at this situation was creeping in, darkening his peripherals just enough. “But we need to cut your rope.”

“What?!”

“There’s a knife in my pocket.” It belonged to someone I knew, he adds mentally, and wonders if said person had ever noticed it missing. “Use it to cut your rope.”

“But, then I’ll fall—”

She’s breathing heavily, and her grip on his knife could weaken at any moment. Tim could feel his own hold on the rope holding them steady slipping too. Hurry, he thought, watching as she tried once more to slice through it. Thankful it was only some kind of combination plastic, and not something out of Bruce’s back pocket. Tim’s foresight told he shouldn’t make every adjustment, a _just in case_ , and it was paying off in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

Tim was sure that Selina had never found herself in a situation like this. 

“Get a good grip on me, and close your eyes.”

Natalie does as she’s told, until Tim is damn near choking, but that was fine. Her rope was barely holding with the threads pulling thinner and thinner. Keeping one arm firmly around her waist, Tim does have one thought that maybe this rope won’t be able to hold the weight of two fully grown adults, but by then it’s too late. 

At least she doesn’t scream on the way down, but Tim can hear the hiccup, right against his ear. Can feel the butt of the handle digging into part of his back, as they slide down. Rope snapping, Tim looks up once to make sure it was hers and not his, before he releases more of his own. Closer towards the ground, not fast enough for his sake. Perhaps his failsafe had worked at dragging the guards away, long enough to let them touch solid ground. Or, luck was finally on his side, for once, and his hold on Natalie slides towards her shoulders.

“I need you to lower yourself.”

Edging and encouraging, but Natalie would make a vigilante of herself yet. Adrenaline had her shaking, and no matter how much Tim said she was doing fine, that he wouldn’t let her go, he could see it in the way she dug her nails into him, able to felt even through the gloves. “You’re doing really well,” he tells her, when she’s just barely dangling now. Gripping his hand like she depended on it, and Tim can feel muscles he hadn’t touched in a long time stretching, a good solid burn as he lowers her the rest of the way. 

Natalie lands, a little _oof_ leaving her, and Tim watches her wobble away from him. “Who are you, Tim Wayne?” she finally asks, when she finds her voice. Tim notes the distinct lack of vomit leaving her, and takes it as a good sign.

But it wasn’t the first time he had been asked that, especially not in the last few months. A million different answers run through his head. And Tim can only settle on one, that earns him a roll of the eyes. “It’s ‘Drake’. And I’m no one special.”

“That’s what they say in all the movies.”

Snorting, Tim lets himself tip back, hands first towards the ground. “Gimme that,” he says, pointing, even as she’s staring at him. When the knife is back in his hand, Tim runs his thumb over the flat of the blade once, before hauling himself up enough to angle his feet back down. With a quick slash through the rope, Tim falls the short distance, landing on the balls of his feet forcing himself into a roll. 

Just barely, he finds time to pocket the knife, as he sees the lights coming back. Something went wrong. Again. A night of errors. Hissing through his teeth, and Natalie’s hand is at his shoulder again, Tim, Tim, look, what are we going to do?! running through his mind, just slightly higher pitch, and a little more terror.

“Follow me!” Snatching her wrist, Tim drags her behind him, towards one of the smaller rooms that veered off at the left. He can hear several voices chiding him for leaving the rope dangling, but maybe they’d assume it was a display. Leftover from some artist who wanted to imagine something else. Tim just hoped they wouldn’t follow it to them.

“Take off your jacket.” He’s already pulling his own off, mic too, screwing it into a little ball and — _aha_ — an old cabinet, circa the 1800s, perfect. Apologising to the owners, who no doubt never foresaw the use for this in the future, Tim pries the doors open. Even if the hinges squeaked, loud enough to definitely give them away now, he shoves everything inside. Natalie seems to get it, somewhere between her question and his unvoiced answer.

“What now?!”

As Tim closes the cabinet, making a note to return to pick up their gear, he turns to Natalie. “Kiss me.”

“If this is just some attempt—” 

“Fuck, just,” scowling, Tim drags his hands through his hair. Barely he can hear the footsteps, and wonders how much time they had. “They think we were making out somewhere for a while, they won’t assume we were breaking in, right?”

Even if she narrows her eyes, looking every bit as displeased as he had thought, Tim noted that the fear had left her for the most part. Certainly made her a lot paler, and he half expected her to throw up in his mouth, but Natalie grabs his face firmly and kisses him. Perhaps it was unfortunate that Tim was seriously out of practice, hadn’t kissed anyone since—

No, he wasn’t going to think about that. Just walked forward, making Natalie walk back. She was all slender and curvy under his hands, and he tried not to wrinkle his nose at how flowery her perfume was, and how he missed that fancy cologne that was gifted each and every year, without fail. How it used to follow in a cloud sometimes, and burned into Tim’s clothes if close enough. Natalie wasn’t a bad kisser, and he could tell she wasn’t as into it either, but he hears the cough behind them, and had to admit she was a better actor.

“Omigod, do you _mind_?” Maybe she had watched too many teenage shows growing up, because her voice hit that exact level of nasally that the nasty popular girl used whenever someone did something against her. Tim saw the reaction on the guard’s face, just like he’d been slapped, and Tim couldn’t stop his grin.

“We’re kinda, uh, busy.”

“And we’re kinda, _uh_ , closed. How long you kids been in here?” Mimicking back the exact tone Tim had used, the guard looked far more unimpressed than before. Tim was grateful that it was dark enough for him to pass as a ‘kid’, though. He was just barely getting to that point of people squinting and tilting their head when looking at him, deciding on whether he was sixteen or twenty-two.

Natalie giggles. “Dunno. Stopped counting.”

“And they say romance is dead.” Oh, Tim liked this guy. Could feel his snark lowering the temperature in the room quite well. “Did you hear anything in this area, by any chance, lovebirds?”

“Um, are you a cop?”

“No.”

“Is this an interrogation?”

“Well, no…”

“So, like, what’s the problem?”

“You two are trespassing. Alongside other people tonight, it seems.” Tim knows the last part was supposed to be said probably quieter, or not at all, and he can see the look on Natalie’s face too.

“Like, was there a break-in, or something?”

“I’m not allowed to say.”

“That’s basically a yes!” Natalie claps her hands, turning to Tim. “Omigod, we were here when there was a _break-in_ , Tim!”

“It’s Gotham, it happens all the time,” Tim says back, trying to hold character perfectly. Come on, he thinks, lead us to what we want to know.

“Like, are there police? Will we be on tv?”

“Yes and no. Just, come on already. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

Natalie babbles as she follows, and Tim lets her. Looks towards the beams above, for any sign of _someone_. This was all too convenient, and not what he planned. No, his failsafe involved the alerting of people in costumes, coming into rain down justice and whatnot. Not the police. As Tim knew very well, with the arrival of police, it also meant the press. And Tim Wayne was not meant to be back in Gotham, and especially not making out in a museum in the middle of a robbery (or did this qualify as a heist, now that he messed up). Tim Wayne was meant to be back in New York, organising charities and helping get kids off the streets. He could already imagine at least four of the potential eight calls he would receive in the morning, as he wrapped an arm firmly around Natalie.

She was shivering, and Tim was glad it wasn’t just him that was worried. All he could think was that this was a bad idea. That he shouldn’t have listened to Selina. Shouldn’t have looked for an excuse to get away, to try to be someone else. To not find something else to do that didn’t involve the burning down of his apartment back over there, full of bad memories and things that should not have passed. Tim didn’t consider himself a violent person, but every time he thought of that person, it was kicking him in the gut. And especially tonight. 

Tonight was just full of awful surprises. 

They aren’t let go. Another shot at Tim’s _spectacular_ plan. Despite the feeling of everything falling down around his ears, again, Tim meets Jim Gordon’s gaze levelly. Jim seemed to judge him, eyebrows drawing together, before he looks on. Another one of those times where Tim has to wonder: did he know? Just another thing that he was kept in the dark about, and his teenage self almost kicks up a bit at Bruce spreading around his secret identity when he couldn’t. But those were old wounds, long since scabbed over, forgotten and forgiven over years. It’s not what he’s worried about, as he ducks into the police car beside Natalie. Returning the squeeze of her hand, Tim wants to end the night. Start again. 

It wasn’t the first time he wished he had been born something other than human. Able to turn back time, just enough, to catch the person who had thrown Natalie from the beams. Able to run ahead to make sure that his failsafe hadn’t been rendered useless. Able to just stare out the window as the police milled about, taking statements, and not be so

Something. Couldn’t put his finger on it. “Are you okay?” he whispers, as the cops pile into the car. Natalie nods, curling into his side, and he wants to tease her. Call her a liar. Put on that cheer he wears back in New York, like he truly was the bored adoptive son of a billionaire. Well, the latter part was somewhat true, but Tim knew he couldn’t muster a smile anymore, and probably wouldn’t for a good day or so, not when he’s got an arm around her as she starts sniffling. 

Goddamn, he was going to kill Jason the next time he saw him. Tapping his fingers on his knee, Tim mapped the way to the police station from the museum behind his eyes. Not that long, especially not with the lack of traffic this late at night. Natalie would recover, eventually. He’d make sure she got to her room in the hotel, and call her a few hours later, when the nightmares would kick in. 

She wasn’t used to falling. Tim had to remind himself that, again, just once more. These were people used to a different kind of life, the one Tim felt like he was crashing into years too late. But even then, this wasn’t even the real thing. Just a cover, a favour. A deep breath that leaves him as they pull into the station, in and out, released alongside any sort of feeling, only bringing back apathy. Despite knowing he didn’t look the part of annoyed teenager who was going to call his millionaire father to bring in a lawyer, Tim debated trying. 

Thinking about what kind of face he should be making, even as they’re marched in, sat down. Someone will be out with them soon, he’s told, but Tim doesn’t believe them. Something about the station unsettles him, how unfamiliar it is. Tim then realises he doesn’t remember the last time he had been inside in civvies, and shifts in his chair. 

Tim doesn’t want to piece together how much time has passed since everything went down the figurative shitter, and looks over at an officer. Flicks his eyes back over to where Natalie was holding herself, staring at the floor, then back over. Fuck it all. He was going to ring the one person he didn’t want to talk to. Potentially the only person who could get him out of this mess. 

“Can I make a phone call?”

The look the officer gives him is completely undeserved, as is the way Tim is led over to the payphone. Never had he figured he would need an escort, and it wasn’t the first time he had thought he had been out of Gotham long enough for it to change just a little to make it unrecognisable.

“Got any spare coins?” Tim asks, just for good measure. Another withering look, but Tim pats down his pockets anyway, and shoves enough money in to have the officer grumble about something else.

Gotham may have changed, but Tim knew that this number hadn’t, tapping it out with years worth of practice (the kind where it just sat on his screen long enough until he switched out of it).

Holding the phone against his ear, he looks over to where Natalie was still hugging herself, and Tim had to admit he was kind of thankful their half assed attempt at a cover worked. Maybe not enough to let them walk away from the museum, but at least they weren't handcuffed. Natalie would’ve panicked, and then they both would’ve gotten nowhere.

Tapping against the box, Tim held the phone between ear and shoulder, wishing he had his mobile at least to do this. If it were him receiving a call like this, he would’ve stared at the screen and probably denied it. Except he knew the receiver wouldn’t. Whether it was curiosity or habit, they would’ve picked up without looking twice. A lesser known fault of a good man.

_“Hello? Who is this?”_

With a sharp intake of air, Tim heard a voice he had been avoiding for the past year, and closed his eyes as he spoke. “Dick? I need you.”

**Author's Note:**

> originally, this was just gonna be an excuse to have catlad x nightwing smut lol  
> but then i fleshed out a story and here i am  
> more tags to be added bc I'm never sure how to sum up stuff on this damn site


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